A mum saved her daughter's life with her newly learned first aid skills. Sonya Hall, 33, of Denny Avenue, Lancaster, had only just attended one first aid class the day before when she found herself needing to use the skills on her three-year-old daughter Tilly.

Sonya, who also has son Emmen, six, attended the first aid course at Lune Park Children's Centre in Lancaster. Then she was faced with every parent's worst nightmare when Tilly went blue in the face and stopped breathing. But thanks to her newly acquired skills, Sonya saved Tilly's life.

Sonya said, “Tilly was playing with her brother and they were fighting over a toy. Emmen won the fight. Tilly fell backwards and her head was hit. She was face down and shaking and at first I thought she was upset. But then I saw she was blue in the face and had stopped breathing. I reacted without thinking and immediately started using the first aid skills I had learned the day before which were so fresh in my mind. I began doing mouth-to-mouth and chest compression(胸外按压). It probably took about a minute before Tilly started breathing again, but to me it felt like a lifetime.”

After getting Tilly breathing again, Sonya called an ambulance and the doctors came. Since then, Tilly has been diagnosed with Reflex Anoxic Seizure(反射缺氧发作). Sonya said, “The seizure can happen when there's any unexpected pain, fear or fright. It's just so lucky that the day before it happened, I had been practicing first aid."

The Empowering Parents First Aid course is run by Lancashire Adult Learning. Sonya said, “I am just so glad I did the course and I learnt the first aid skills. I always feared I would not know what to do in a crisis situation, but luckily I had the knowledge and skills to deal with it.”

I turned off the classroom light, only to find a tearful Laura outside the door. “Sister Jo, can I talk to you? Do you have time?”

Switching the light on again, I smiled, “I always have time for you, honey.” Honestly speaking, Laura’s troubled face left me no choice. We sat in the empty classroom as she described the effect her dad’s alcoholism (酗酒) was having. I listened, handing her tissues (纸巾). After half an hour, she said, “I know you can’t do anything about it, but thanks for listening. My mom keeps saying, ‘He’s sick! Alcoholism is a disease!’” I gave her a hug. Then it hit me. Why hadn’t I taken Laura out walking with me?

The next day was just as lovely. “Today I’ll walk!” I promised. But at 3:00 pm, Brian was at the door. “Hi, can I talk to you?” “Sure,” I answered. “But it’s such perfect weather. Can we go for a walk?” We circled the small lake near our school and talked about helping emotionally (感情上) troubled kids.

On Laura’s next visit, she happily accepted my invitation to walk. I had a surprise for her. Classmate Tom had given me brochures (小手册) from Alateen. “Someone in your class said his uncle has the same problem.” I told Laura. “If I may share your story, he’ll drive you to Alateen meetings. By attending Alateen meetings, young people gain an understanding of alcoholism and feel the advantages of realizing they are not alone with an alcoholic parent.”

And so, it became a pattern. Whoever came to chat after school was invited to walk. In the walks, these kids find relief from the pressure and frustrations (挫折) they face. And I’ve lost ten pounds!

I hated wearing a burqa. It made me itch; it made me sweat. And it made me invisible. Mine was blue with a small lace opening for the eyes, though underneath I wore a short-sleeved dress and tights. Walking in a burqa, I lost my usual confident gait: I hung my head lower, both hands clutching the edge of the fabric so I wouldn’t stumble. The very fact of wearing it made me feel inferior. To leave the house, when I became a teenager about a decade ago, I had to transform myself into a thing.

My way of protesting was to go out as little as possible, which seemed to be the only way I could protect my individuality. But I yearned to participate in life directly rather than simply observe it through my veil.

My parents, too, wanted me to step into my fullest potential. When other mothers praised their daughters for their cooking and housework, mine would claim that a woman’s real jewel is her education. When other fathers focused on how quickly they could marry their daughters, my father laughed if someone came to our house with a marriage proposal.

On some nights, when the neighbourhood was sleeping and only stray dogs occupied the roads, my father would walk with me outside the house to give me a taste of the world without a burqa. In the shadow of moonlight, we would stroll, hearing the sounds of crickets and dogs rummaging through rubbish. With each step I took, I felt free. Once my father disguised me as a boy to swim in the river that I used to go to when I was a child. He didn’t want me to forget what it felt like to be free.

Sometimes I would get angry and loudly complain that I was forced to cage myself in a burqa. My mother would look at me with a solemn expression, place her hand on my head, and say, “Be someone who can leave this place.” She encouraged me to learn English.

And I did. Armed with an iPad, the internet and a free education website called Khan Academy, I taught myself English, philosophy, maths, science, and history. While most young women my age were getting married, I was learning how to argue like Socrates or apply mathematics like Newton. With each new thing I learned, I began to feel alive, like a plant that blooms when it gets water after it has been parched and dying. By allowing me the freedom of education, my parents gave me a window to the world. More than that, they gave me the tools to create my own identity and make myself visible again.